Scion
by Bloodhawk 248
Summary: The fall of the Order left him alone, surrounded by darkness. Fortunately, he's learned to deal with that.
1. Chapter 1

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

_There is no death, there is the Force._

Right now, as Mace Windu falls through the sky, wind whipping past his face, he wonders bitterly why the ancient founders of the Jedi Order hadn't thought to include a line on pain.

He's not thinking about the physical; the pain of his lost hand is nothing. Nothing, compared to the pain of his failure.

Darth Sidious, the Lord of the Sith, the mastermind of the war, the key to the final destruction of the Sith for all time, was there. On the floor. Begging to surrender.

He _had _him.

How little it takes, how quickly it happens. Letters of stone became piles of sand, illegible drivel where before had been firm, clear words. The prophecy was no more, if indeed it ever had been.

Anakin Skywalker, at the most crucial point, had failed. Failed Obi-Wan Kenobi, failed the Jedi Order, failed the Republic. And because of him, Mace Windu had failed the very thing he had loved.

He had failed the Republic. The Republic he loved. He had failed it too, by allowing his regard for the Chancellor to blind him to the realities of the situation. When the Order had reacted, it was too little, too late.

And now the Republic paid the price.

He thinks, then, of Kar Vastor, and speculates that the _lor pelek_ would garner a great deal of amusement from his predicament.

_Now you are just like me, doshalo. You always were._

The physical pain and blood loss take their tolls, and he slips into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

A gentle nudge from the everything that is the Force brings him back to consciousness, just in time to see that he is approaching the ground of Coruscant at something resembling terminal velocity.

He wonders then, if it would not be simpler to just die. After all, his was the sword that had stood between the Republic and the Sith.

Now, there is neither a sword nor a Republic. Only a severed stump and an Empire. And an old man who had failed once too many.

Undoubtedly, the Jedi have been branded as traitors, or will be. They will be hunted down and murdered by the clone troops they have commanded for years. Together, he and Yoda had looked at the emergence of the Sith and decided to wager the fate of the Jedi on their destruction.

As with many gambles, it had been a high-stakes enterprise, and also as with many gambles, it had backfired.

Palpatine had planned this all from the start; he had wormed his way into the Chosen One's heart, making sure to be the one island in the sea of apathy that Skywalker had perceived himself to be in. He had taken full advantage of the Jedi reluctance to train Skywalker, whispering in the boy's ear that they did not appreciate his talents. Anakin's ego matched his power; the boy had been all too ready to accept that his teachers feared, envied, or despised him for his strength.

The Sith had changed while the Jedi had not. There had never been a contest, only a play in which the ending was set in stone. In the cold, perfectly clear vision of hindsight, Mace questions why anyone had ever thought there had been a chance to win, against an enemy that had known their every move.

_A very wise Jedi once told me, "We don't have to win. All we have to do is fight."_

Obi-Wan's gentle tone drifts through his head, tinged with that mellow humor that age and wisdom have given him. Even now, the thought of the serene Jedi Master makes Mace's lips quirk up.

Did he really say those words? He can't remember; everything, including the duel with Palpatine seems as if it had occurred centuries ago. Those words belong to a Mace Windu of another age, one who had not yet realized the full scope and nature of the Sith.

The Sith cannot be destroyed, anymore than the darkness can be annihilated with a burst of light. They are eternal, and so is the conflict they bring.

_That is one reason the Jedi were created. _A gentle baritone, the voice of a man he had once known. _Conflict is eternal, it is part of life. The Jedi were created to control it, to make sure it does not grow out of its proportions._

_You were right, my old friend. The purpose of the Jedi is to fight, to preserve, to protect. Our goal is not to win, only to show the darkness that we will not submit willingly._

_All we have to do is fight._

It is that maxim, those words, that finally spur Mace Windu into action.

He will not die today.


End file.
